The Broken Tile
by Turnered
Summary: Annie reflects on what she's become, and wonders if she really is going to be stuck at Windsor Terrace forever.


This was originally written for a friend, but I've rewritten it a couple of times now and it's sort of gone from being a short Annie/Mitchell drabble, to being more centred around Annie. It's set somewhere between episodes 2 and 3 of series 1, and I reworked the pilot into it a little towards the end.

I hope you enjoy it and reviews and tips are always welcome.

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It was funny how something so small and broken could have so much meaning. It was significant, that little white tile; cracked and left unrepaired. It showed a small window into what had happened to Annie the night she had died. Marking the exact spot where she cracked the back of her skull and everything had changed. How long had she been stood staring at it now? An hour? Maybe longer. Mitchell would be home from work soon, and she hadn't done anything she'd planned to do for the day. Cups of cold tea littered the coffee table and window sills, whereas she usually would have emptied them and remade the tea; in case someone came home early. Nothing had been put away or rearranged after the boys had tumbled out of bed that morning and made a mess of the living room. George wasn't so bad, Annie would give him that, at least he tried to clean up after himself. Mitchell, on the other hand, was a lot different. But it all seemed so insignificant now that she stood at the foot of the stairs. Surrounded by dirty cups and staring at a cracked tile; it was hardly how Annie had expected to spend her afterlife. Come to think of it, had she believed in life after death when she was alive? She should have been able to remember something like that. The beliefs she'd held as a human. Even if she had different opinions now, she knew that it wasn't right to forget such things so easily. Then again, she could barely remember how she died.

The ghost scuffed the toe of her Ugg boot across the crack and stared expectantly. Nothing happened. No memories came flooding back like she'd expected. There was no sudden epiphany of why she was still there. Just the silence of the little pink house where she had lived and died. Her home with a werewolf and a vampire; with its dodgy plumbing and clanky tap and tea she couldn't drink.

She inhaled a deep breath that she didn't even need, and wiped the sleeve of her cardigan across her cheeks to stop the welling tears. Maybe if she lay back in that spot? Maybe that would work. But that thought was quickly interrupted by the sound of keys in the lock of the front door, and Annie span around to greet her flatmate.

Mitchell only smiled at her briefly as he threw his keys down into the bowl and shrugged off his jacket. He was used to coming home to an over-excited Annie, who usually handed him a cup of coffee the second he walked through the door. But tonight was different. He frowned when she didn't pass anything to him as expected - not because he was demanding that she ran around after him, but because it was unusual for Annie to remain so quiet.

"Everything okay?" He asked, trying to keep up the calm pretence that he'd had when he walked in. Annie only nodded, the faint trace of tears on her cheek catching on the light from the kitchen. No, something definitely wasn't right, and Mitchell stepped towards her without even having to think about it; taking her hand in his to reassure her that everything was okay now that he was home.

"What happened?" Annie's eyes widened. She wasn't surprised by the sudden look of concern that had washed over her flatmate's face, or the close proximity between the two of them - those were the things that she found oddly comforting - but her attention was caught by the feel of Mitchell's hand clasping hers. It was nice. Unexpected, but nice. It felt tingly and cold, like the time they'd accidentally kissed, and Annie felt a small smile creep across her lips despite her sadness. Mitchell, however, had misread the look of shock on her face as she'd looked down at their hands and promptly let go of her.

"It's fine- _I'm_ fine," she reassured with her still lingering little smile as she looked back up to him. Stopping herself from reaching back out to hold his hand again, this time to reassure the vampire that she really was okay. Not the other way around. "I'm being silly, really."

"Annie," Mitchell sighed, "People don't cry for no reason. You can tell me." She could. She knew she could, and she really wanted to. She could always rely on Mitchell in times like this. Maybe even more than she could with George. Mitchell would always be the first to hug her and offer the sort of advice she'd expect her dad to give her. The sort of half-wise, half-humorous responses that you didn't expect to come from someone as young as Mitchell appeared to be. He understood. He'd seen the other side, and the men with sticks and rope. He must have been just as scared as she was.

Without thinking, and as a small, silent thank you, Annie wrapped her arms around Mitchell and tried to pull him closer. Something that proved difficult with her not-quite-there limbs.

"I know," she tried to smile again, despite her growing tears that refused to spill down her cheeks, "It's nothing."

She could feel Mitchell's doubt and hesitation, and she knew he saw through her little white lie, but he hugged her back all the same. His arms wrapped around her waist and did what her own couldn't quite manage; he pulled her closer and scooped her into an even tighter hug. If she wasn't ready to tell him what was wrong with her, and he couldn't help her with comforting words, the least he could do was hold her and let her know she wasn't alone.

Their moment of silence was broken as Annie muffled a "Do you want a cup of tea?" against Mitchell's chest, and his reply was only delayed by his realisation that he'd almost felt her cold breath through his shirt.

"Don't change the subject," he teased, slowly releasing his hold around her after a last, quick squeeze.

"I'm not," Annie smiled, quickly wiping at her cheeks to remove the last of her tears, "I just want something to do."

She wasn't going to tell him what was wrong, not today. Maybe one day she would tell him properly about the broken tile at the bottom of the stairs and how she truly felt - although she suspected he already knew - even if it was just to make sure George didn't get the tile replaced.

"A cup of tea would be great."

The next morning - when she'd finished cleaning up the cold mugs of tea and Mitchell and George were asleep - Annie would rentaghost into Mitchell's room, sit at the foot of his bed, and tell him everything.

She told him all of her worries and fears. Her confusion at why she was still there and why she didn't want to leave now that she had him and George. When he finally woke up and turned over with a groan to see her sat beside him, she felt considerably better and pretended she had said nothing.

"Have you been sitting there long?" Mitchell smirked.

"Define long."

"An hour?"

"Then yeah."


End file.
